


I feel so make believe (feel it all over).

by lumoon33



Category: A.C.E (Beat Interactive Band)
Genre: 5 Times, Affection, Almost Kiss, Best Friends, Exhaustion, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Mush, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Like, M/M, Overworking, REALLY WHIPPED, Tenderness, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, basically byeongkwan is whipped, let idols sleep, my fav tag, not rlly that much angst tho, that's all this is about, trash idol life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 04:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19822651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumoon33/pseuds/lumoon33
Summary: Sehyoon doesn’t say anything, he just smiles back, the skin of his lips smooth and candy pink as it stretches, as if it doesn’t hurt him to smile at all. Byeongkwan doesn’t understand how he can be this soft, he kinda wants to bite him roughly, ruin him a little bit. He blames it on the exhaustion.or: five times byeongkwan and sehyoon almost kiss and 2 times they actually do





	I feel so make believe (feel it all over).

**Author's Note:**

> oooooff i said i wanted to write something longer for this ship and here it is!!!  
> ok i really struggled with this one but eh, i just wanna post it and get it over with  
> im completely innocent this is all a.c.e's fault i didn't ask them to have That move in under cover we all know what i'm talking about.
> 
> just so you know this isn't beta'd and english isn't my first language so im sorry for any mistakes you can find here  
> i really hope u like it!!

1

Exhaustion clings to Byeongkwan like sweat, damp and thick on his forehead, it slides down his temples, pools on his eyelids ‘till they feel heavy, throbbing, red and white everywhere he looks. The need to sleep curls around every single one of his joints like a spiderweb, they squeak like old, rusty machines. That’s how he feels, rusty and worn out, the million hours he’s spent in this practice room pile up on him, reduce him to thin muscle and slumped shoulders.

Junhee’s voice sounds robotic, screaming _one more time, from the top_ every time the music stops. He sounds like one of those annoying female-like voices that announce the stops at the metro station, Yuchan says, emotionless on stereo. Byeongkwan chuckles even if it makes his lungs hurt, but his laughter fades in his throat when he catches a glimpse of the hour on the computer screen. 03:00 am, it glimes white and bright even when he closes his eyes, tries to rest his vision before Junhee presses play for the nth time.

His view is blurry and unfocused when he starts dancing again, but it’s not like he needs it, the steps are already engraved into his bones, it’s all muscle memory, he could dance to this song with all his senses shut down. Or that’s what he thinks until he moves a little too further, a little too fast, too tired to be sharp, nice and clean.

The song is still playing on the background when he focuses again. He’s listened to it so many times there’s nothing unique about it anymore, the guitar feels too noisy, the drums too loud, his own voice is high and annoying. He just wants to turn it off, off, off. But, this time, Yuchan’s laughter is louder than the song, chirpy with such an energy Byeongkwan wishes he could borrow for a while, he’ll give it right back once he stops feeling so oxidized, he promises.

He looks around, sees Yuchan on his knees, bent over as he laughs, his arms around his middle as if he’s trying to keep himself in one piece, and Byeongkwan wonders if his ribs hurt as much as his own. Sehyoon is on the floor, on his butt in front of Byeongkwan, short pants folded around his knees, and Byeongkwan’s eyes get caught on the bruises on his shins and the sweat pooling in his collarbone before they fix on his face, rose red and glistening, eyes wide open and eyebrows raised, amused.

“What the hell, Kwan,” Donghun says, breathy, the edges soft with laughter, his arm slumped over Junhee’s shoulders as he rubs his hands over his face, trying to clean up sweat or tears or both. “I thought you were gonna smooch him right there!”

  
  


Yuchan bursts into laughter again, higher pitched and more hysterical. It’s probably the lack of sleep, Byeongkwan thinks, it blurs everything together and makes it feel weirder, funnier, like a dream (or a nightmare, dreams don’t nib your muscles like wrong aimed syringes). They haven’t gotten back on stage yet and all of Byeongkwan’s muscles are already longing for another hiatus.

“You should-” Yuchan tries to squeeze his words between the laughter that keeps bubbling up his throat, he’s flushed pink and shiny with sweat, flopped on the floor, everything about him screams fatigue. “You should try that. Fans will love it,” he laughs again, his eyes slitted like crescent moons.

It rubs on Byeongkwan, he doesn’t know if it’s the exhaustion, or the musty smell of the practice room, the air so heavy warm and moist it’s dizzying, but suddenly he’s doubling over, fingertips digging into his own ribs to make sure they stay there, locked together. Laughter comes out of him like a wave, racketing his whole body, everything squeaking uglily, like the old machine he is.

It feels like he’s breaking down and being reborn at the same time, getting dismantled just to be built like something new, he never thought laughter could hurt so much and sound so dangerous. He just lets it flow out of him, laughs with his head pulled back and his arms pressed against his stomach. Laughs and laughs until he’s gasping for air, as red cheeked and watery eyed as Yuchan and Donghun. He feels giddy, skin buzzing as if it’s being tickled by a million butterflies. His muscles are so tired, as if someone is jabbing knives into his abs.

“Let’s go!” Junhee yells, pushing Donghun away from him gently. “One more time, from the top. We can’t slack off,” and he claps his way to the computer. His voice still sounds like a robot, but Byeongkwan doesn’t miss the slight smile on his face.

He feels more awake now, as he offers a stretched hand to Sehyoon. He grunts as he pulls him up, everything screeching on the inside. The pain is sharper, it’s impossible not to focus, music thunderous in his ears, impossible to avoid.

“Watch out,” he forces himself to sneak a smirk in the middle of all the pain, eyes trapped on the drops of sweat that slide off Sehyoon’s eyelashes to fall on his cheeks. “I might kiss you next time.” He considers winking, but he’s afraid his eyes won’t open again.

Sehyoon doesn’t say anything, he just smiles back, the skin of his lips smooth and candy pink as it stretches, as if it doesn’t hurt him to smile at all. Byeongkwan doesn’t understand how he can be this soft, he kinda wants to bite him roughly, ruin him a little bit. He blames it on the exhaustion.

  
  


(Practice goes on for another full hour, and maybe Byeongkwan leans in closer than necessary every single time just to make Yuchan laugh, the chirpy sound makes it a little easier to finish the choreo. And it’s better to stay focused on Sehyoon’s lips than on the hour twinkling on the computer screen, ticking by painfully slow, stretching time into nothing.)

2

If exhaustion clings to Byeongkwan like sweat, then hunger crawls inside of him like a vine. It starts in the pit of his stomach, hollow and burning, and spreads up his chest slowly, down his thighs, emptying everything on its way to his wrists and ankles, until there’s nothing left but ashes and muscle ache.

He should eat more, he’s aware of it. He doesn’t need the worried stares Junhee throws his way every morning, when he doesn’t sit to eat breakfast with the other members; nor the angry, pointed looks Donghun nails on him every time his stomach grumbles throughout the day. It just makes the emptiness sharper, now he’s got knives nabbing at his body inside and out.

He wants to eat more, but there’s this annoying voice hiding behind his right ear, whispering that he will never look good enough, that the hours at the gym will go to waste if he takes one bite more than necessary. It makes him feel grey, just ashes everywhere, the dark shadows under his eyes leaking grey all over his skin.

Sometimes, it gets almost unbearable. Hunger swirls inside of him mixed up with exhaustion, it feels heavy on his knees, makes him trip over steps he should have tattooed on his feet. He can’t say no to Sehyoon on days like this, to the soft edges of his eyes and the soft edges of his smile and the soft edges of his voice when he offers Byeongkwan a handful of the potato chips he always carries around in his backpack, that black fan-gifted bag that’s always glued to his side.

Everything is Sehyoon’s fault and this endless kindness that seems to soften everything around him, even the ache on Byeongkwan’s thighs and forearms. So Byeongkwan is just trying to get back at him when he leans in a little bit more than necessary during practice. He’s just seeking the fun crumbs of preparing for a comeback, he wants to go past the pain on his feet and the void in his gut and get to the laughter, the blurry line between having genuine fun and being so sleepy that everything makes you laugh.

What he doesn’t expect is the hand on the back of his neck pulling him in, in, in, as his own fingers trail down Sehyoon’s soft cheek painfully slow. He’s awfully aware of Sehyoon’s eyes focused on his lips, heavy and thick like honey, Byeongkwan has to fight the need to lick to discover if he tastes sweet. He just turns his head in the last second, his mouth brushes over Sehyoon's cheek, heart hammering strongly in his throat, growing bigger and bigger and filling up all the empty space in his body, replacing all the grey with flushed pink.

It's so difficult to focus afterwards. He can hear Yuchan snickering over the music, he sounds just as strident, Byeongkwan wants to turn him off, he wants to turn everything off, off, off, and just stare at Sehyoon.

He sneaks a glance at him later, once the song is over and Byeongkwan can stretch over the floor, his chest heaving up and down, heart echoing in all the empty space inside him. He knows he’s still blushing when their eyes lock, he can feel it on his cheeks and down his neck, this tingling simmering that won’t go away no matter how hard Byeongkwan rubs his hands over his sensitive skin. He’s just making it worse, he feels raw and exposed, but he can’t seem to stop trying to erase the embarrassment away.

It wouldn’t even be that bad if Sehyoon looked half as ashamed as he feels. He doesn’t even look slightly surprised. He’s just smiling, perfectly composed and annoyingly pleased with himself. He smiles so softly, as if that’s the only thing he knows how to do. And Byeongkwan hates him, despises how pliable and flexible he is, the way Sehyoon just grins and molds himself to fit with everything that’s sharper around him, in a way nothing can cut him open, not even scratch him.

Byeongkwan wants to surprise him. He wants to tear at his seams slowly and undone him, wants to make him feel all flushed and bothered, the way Byeongkwan is feeling right now. He wants to tear him down just to build him up again. He wants Sehyoon to snap at him, scream at him, bite him raw and tender. He wants to break him and ruin him, oh so desperately, he realizes, as he keeps staring at his soft smile and his soft cheeks and the soft curve of his neck from across the room.

He has the vague feeling that this realization should wash over him like acid rain. It should be scary, it should make his bones rattle with the intensity of it all. But the feeling just settles in the pit of his stomach, warm and calm, filling him up slowly with something sweet and pleasant. He feels warm for the first time in months.

The only reason why he doesn’t lean down even closer next time they are dancing is because of Junhee’s exasperated frown, his robotic voice is back, yelling at them to _take it seriously for once damnit. Yuchan, get your shit together_ , and playfully slapping Donghun after for mimicking him. 

So Byeongkwan holds his ground and holds Sehyoon’s gaze and feels the intensity of it all bubbling between his lungs. But he breathes in and thinks, _one day, maybe, maybe, maybe._

3

Byeongkwan feels thrilled for the first time in months. The nervousness is so strong it’s almost tangible over his skin, it wraps around his limbs and weakens them. His knees are wobbly, his feet unsteady, sweat drools down his back, uncomfortable under the belt around his belly, it pools in the dimples of his back. He feels hot all over as he stares at the crowd before him, immense and imposing, he feels like all these people are looming over him, staring him down instead of the other way around. And he’s never felt this impossibly powerful and this impossibly small at the same time before.

But, still, he feels thrilled. It’s a kind of nervousness he can handle, he’s learnt to swim through it a long time ago, to dive under the anxiety and the high expectations and grab onto the exciting part of it all. He’s missed standing on stage so much, the bruises on his legs, his sore thighs, the aching on his forearms... it all goes numb under the pleasant pressure of a live performance, the steady presence of his four members beside him, Sehyoon’s lips curling up when he looks at him.

And he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he can’t stop himself from leaning in closer than necessary, even if they are dancing in front of hundreds of people instead of their own reflection in the walls. It shouldn’t be surprising, he’s been practicing the choreo like this for so many days, leaning down is engraved in his bones just like any other move. He blames it on Sehyoon, the way his eyes always fall to his lips, so warmly, as if he’s trying to lure him in. How is Byeongkwan supposed to refuse, when his heart swells so much he can’t even hear the music anymore.

It surprises him, anyway. It surprises the crowd, too, he can tell, their screams defeatingly loud, ringing in his ears the way Yuchan’s laughter rang the practice room. Sehyoon doesn’t look surprised in the sightless, though. He smiles at Byeongkwan once they are off stage, sweet and gentle even with drops of sweat falling off his messy hair, clothes all damp, hanging from his wide shoulders and clinging to his toned chest.

Byeongkwan has to look away to stop his cheeks from lighting up, to stop his insides from burning up. Ashes and bone, he thought. He’s all fire and embarrassment, lately.

  
  


(“The feeling was better during practice, though,” he says later, putting on a serious face for the camera. “I might kiss him one of these days.”

Byeongkwan is hoping for any kind of reaction: a surprised laugh, a quirked eyebrow, blushing cheeks, anything. Sehyoon just smiles at the camera, softly as always, his eyes scrunching up with happiness, and he nods. Nods as if he’s accepting it, maybe just waiting for it, already one step ahead.

And Sehyoon’s cheeks look so soft when he smiles, eyes puffy and wrinkled up. Byeongkwan wants to cradle his face in his hands, place a kiss in grey bags under his eyes, behind his ear, under his chin. It burns hot in his chest, want and fear all mixed up until they turn into something tender. And it makes no sense. Nothing makes sense.

But what if Sehyoon goes sharp under his fingertips. These feelings don’t fit into the initial picture, and Byeongkwan feels so out of control, so all over the place, he’s desperate for some kind of stability. What if Byeongkwan is reading it all wrong and Sehyoon is a step behind instead of one further. What if he isn’t there at all.

But Sehyoon keeps smiling, patient, and the room tilts to the side with the corners of his mouth. Byeongkwan wonders, wonders, wonders.)

4

At this point, getting so close to Sehyoon is already part of the choreography. Still, Byeongkwan can’t stop waiting for a reaction he knows won’t come. Even if anticipation and hope burn so hot up his sternum he thinks he might burst into flames and ruin everything around him. But he never gets there, he never explodes, it all just dies and falls into disappointed ashes in the pit of his stomach when he’s never able to take a step further. Just one.

He hates them, Sehyoon’s soft smiles, they don’t fit in the choreography. He hates how calm and collected he looks while Byeongkwan keeps simmering under his skin. He hates how patient he looks, as if he’s used to waiting for Byeongkwan, as if he’s always been kilometres ahead of him, looking over his shoulder, waiting for him to catch up someday. And Byeongkwan thinks he might never catch up, no matter how hard he tries to read something behind those bubblegum pink lips. He never gets it right, and he keeps falling behind, behind, behind. It’s terrifying.

He loves them, too. The smiles. They feel like a wave, but it never crashes against his beaten up body, it washes over him gently, it puts down his flames easy, pools in his stomach like a calm ocean. Even if he feels dizzy all the time, as if he’s walking over the edge of a cliff, teetering, dangling, Sehyoon’s always there to steady him.

That’s not what Byeongkwan wants, though. He wants angry eyes, and rough fingertips leaving white prints on his skin, and furrowed eyebrows and exasperated sighs. He wants to break Sehyoon so bad, peal all the covers off him and read him like an open book.

And maybe he’s getting there.

“Are you gonna smooch or what?” Donghun asks after a break, once they are getting into formation for the nth time tonight. Yuchan snickers, as always, but no one replies. 

And it feels like another boring practice, routine pleasantly heavy on Byeongkwan’s shoulders. Until he leans in, and can’t lean back.

Sehyoon’s hand is firm on his wait, fingers hard against his hip, Byeongkwan is sure he’s gonna leave red fingerprints there. His eyes are heavy on his lips again, but not honey-like, he looks like a hurricane. Byeongkwan is looking down at his feet, because he wants, wants, wants so desperately he’s sure it’s all over his face. He feels the need to hide, as if Sehyoon’s ever needed to look into his eyes to read him, as if Sehyoon hasn’t memorized every corner, edge and curve already. As if Byeongkwan hasn’t let him, open handed and pliant.

“If you don’t go for it I’m gonna have to do it myself” Sehyoon says, almost a whisper. Byeongkwan has never heard his voice go so deep, low with something hot, dangerous. It starts the flames all over again, they lick up Byeongkwan’s throat ‘till they tint his cheeks red.

He isn’t able to reply, he just looks up as Sehyoon lets go of him. And he knows he’s smirking triumphally, as if Sehyoon hasn’t just made him go all flushed up with just once sentence. But he can’t help it, not when he can still feel the warmth of Sehyoon’s fingers in his hip, needy.

Perhaps Byeongkwan doesn’t even want to ruin him. Maybe he just wants to scratch at his skin long enough to make him snap, long enough for Sehyoon to ruin him, instead.

No one says anything after that, Junhee just plays the song from the start.

4 + 1

It’s three in the morning and Byeongkwan should be alone in the practice room. It’s his thing, staying after practice to dance for a couple more hours on his own. He goes on until sleep settles on his ankles and he can’t follow one more step without tripping over his own feet.

But Sehyoon stays tonight. He sits down, back and head resting against the mirror, his cap so low over his forehead Byeongkwan can’t even see his eyes. But he can feel his gaze , it’s like a jab in his chest, dripping hot honey all over his arms, it makes him so sticky and tense he might snap inside and out.

All the attention makes his limbs rickety, his moves are fuzzy and all over the place. He’s never felt like this, shaky and overflowing, so out of control he can’t even follow steps that have been tattooed on his feet for months now. How can something that’s empty overflow, he wonders, wonders, wonders.

It’s the magic of Sehyoon, he guesses. The way he makes him feel all filled up even when inside him it’s all burnt down (ashes and bone). The way he feels so sticky, not honey nor sweat, just a bunch of feelings he can’t name dripping down the naked skin of his arms. He knows he isn’t making any sense. How is he supposed to learn how to read Sehyoon if he can’t even read himself.

His hands get all clammy when Sehyoon gets up, suddenly. Byeongkwan stays still, panting in the middle of the dance room as strong drums buzz in his ears, they sound caged, robot-like. Sehyoon takes off his cap and tosses it aside, his hair is all tangled up, messy and soft looking, even where it sticks to his forehead. Byeongkwan’s hands are itching at his sides, he balls them into fists to stop them from reaching out, he isn’t sure if they want to give or take, take, take more than what he can handle.

Sehyoon looks down at him, the tip of their shoes pressed up together, chests a breeze away. Byeongkwan hates the fact that he has to look up to meet Sehyoon’s eyes, he hates how small he makes him feel, small and lost and so far behind. Sehyoon’s eyes look dark and serious, no trace of softness in them, and Byeongkwan has been waiting for this, but he can’t really enjoy it. He misses the mushy cotton candy smile, he knows how to work around that, even if it makes him so angry and calm at the same time he short circuits.

He thinks he may be in flames already, because Sehyoon’s fingers feel freezing cold against his skin as he slips his hand inside the hole of Byeongkwan’s tank top, slides his pads over his ribs, as if he’s looking for his roots there, the space between his lungs that he’s stolen so long ago. Maybe Sehyoon hasn’t stolen it, maybe it’s always belonged to him.

His palm is firm but gentle pressed up against Byeongkwan’s spine, in the curve of his back, and he pulls him closer. He looks down until their noses brush against each other, whispers “what do you want?” and Byeongkwan thinks _everything, everything, everything_. He can’t speak, though, the flames are back again, scorching all the way up his throat until he can taste ash under his tongue. Maybe this is the time he actually explodes.

He doesn’t even need to answer, though. Sehyoon seems to be able to read everything in his eyes, Byeongkwan should’ve seen that coming, he’s been waiting for the longest time. Sehyoon presses his other hand flat against Byeongkwan’s chest, and he wonders if he can feel his heart there, drumming frantically at the beat of the song, still playing in the background, so far away, as if they are under water. What a wonderful thing, burning up underwater.

Sehyoon pushes, pushes, pushes and Byeongkwan just goes with it, because, honestly, what else is he supposed to do when there’s a firepit in his stomach he knows only Sehyoon can put down. As if he’s ever been able to say no. He backs down until he has the cold mirror pressed against his back and Sehyoon’s ribs pressed against his chest. He feels it all as he stares into Sehyoon’s eyes. The exhaustion is gone, there’s only want dancing around the fire in his stomach, slipping down his thighs until it curls heavy around his knees, it makes him go weak with desire. He wraps his itchy hands around Sehyoon’s forearms, and he’s willing to take everything, even if he can’t bear it.

Sehyoon whispers, “how long?” so close, his breath sneaking into Byeongkwan’s mouth as their lips brush in the lightest touch. Byeongkwan doesn’t know what he’s supposed to reply. How long what? How long has he wanted to be exactly like this, pinned against the mirror by Sehyoon’s body, no way to escape, no place he wants to escape to? How long has he wanted to bit down Sehyoons lower lip, scratch it and scrape it and ruin it just to smooth it down with his tongue, over and over again? How long has he wanted to place his hands on Sehyoon’s cheeks, softly? How long has he wanted to kiss the mole next to his ear? How long has he been running behind him, his steps never big enough?

_Always_ , he thinks. He can’t get the words out, Sehyoon’s mouth has stolen them all, a breath away from Byeongkwan’s lips. He is stealing his thoughts too, just like he stole all the space inside of him. So Byeongkwan just gasps, pushes his hips closer to Sehyoon’s desperately, kind of pathetically. He just wants more, more, more.

And Sehyoon obliges, as if he’s been shaped to tend Byeongkwan’s needs, to wait for him and give him everything he asks for. That’s what he does now, he presses his thigh between Byeongkwan’s legs and kisses him, pushes Byeongkwan’s gasp back with his tongue, all hard muscle and feverish skin under his hands.

This is exactly how Byeongkwan wants him, under his palms, caging him between his arms, pushing against him hungrily. He feels himself surrender, he pushes back as hard and doesn’t even try to bite down at Sehyoon’s skin, he just opens his mouth and gives him everything, open handed (as always).

Sehyoon takes, takes, takes. He bites and scratches until Byeongkwan is shuddering against the mirror. He threads his fingers through Byeongkwan’s hair, tangles his fist there and pulls, his teeth trapping Byeongkwan’s lower him as he moans out loud, asking for more without words. And Sehyoon gives him more, he paints his neck with purple bruises, bites down his Adam’s apple, licks the sweat off his collarbones as his fingers leave prints all over Byeongwan’s ribs, inside and out (they are already his, anyway).

Byeongkwan lets him unravel him willingly, he lets Sehyoon pull at his seams and crack him open the way he’s been wanting to do to Sehyoon for god knows how long. He lets him ruin him and clings onto him with clammy hands and clammy legs and clammy groans. He shudders and sinks his nails into Sehyoon’s wide shoulders as he wills himself not to explode, not yet.

And it’s amazing to open his eyes to find Sehyoon just as ruined as he is, cheeks flushed red and half lidded eyes and lips glistering. He smells like sweat and honey and want. And even though everything is boiling up around Byeongkwan, the look of pure need in Sehyoon’s eyes feels like a wave, it washes over him gently like one of his soft smiles, settles heavy under his heart, reassuring and steady.

Byeongkwan dives in again, kisses him until his lips feel sore, touches him until his skin feels raw, drowns and burns until he stops thinking.

  
  


(They kiss and kiss until Byeongkwan is so sleepy his eyes keep closing against his will. Sehyoon drags him out of the practice room, his hand curled around Byeongwakn’s fingers, he’s sweaty and rough but his grip is feather like, soft like marshmallow.

Sehyoon smiles at him once Byeongwan’s already in bed. He stands with his right shoulder leaning against the door frame, he’s already in his sleeping clothes, blue with a kitty pattern. He smiles to the dark of the room, and Byeongkwan doesn’t think he can actually see him, but, still, Sehyoon is all pink and soft and oh so gentle. The fact that Byeongkwan was burning up against him just an hour ago feels like a distant dream, make believe.

That’s how Sehyoon makes him feel, like a tangled dream, hot like flames and light as feathers. He thinks he should say something, talk it out, whatever it is. But he’s too tired to make Sehyoon stay when he moves away from the door frame and turns around to leave. 

When Byeongkwan’s eyes drift closed he can feel Sehyoon’s lips on his own, warm and honey heavy. He dreams of pink, fluffy clouds, like marshmallows, like a smile.)

5

They do not talk about it.

They don’t talk about it and Byeongkwan is on edge all the time, walking on a cliff, buzzing every time Sehyoon just brushes against him. It’s driving him insane, this weight on his chest, warm and sweet and so uncomfortable, clutching around his heart, growing bigger, bigger, bigger until he can taste it under his tongue, bittersweet.

It won’t go away, no matter how many times he tries to swallow it down, no matter how many deep breaths he takes to try to keep it at bay. And it gets even worse the next time they step on stage. It’s like a warning, like a threat. He wants to jump out of his own skin and run as far away as he can.

And Sehyoon. He just looks peaceful, content and patient. He looks at Byeongkwan with his eyes full of something he can not name, but it catches his breath in his throat, it makes him gasp pathetically, as if Sehyoon stole all the air from his lungs with his kisses and forgot to give it back. Byeongkwan keeps suffocating and Sehyoon looks so soft, he yearns.

Byeongkwan wants him under his palms again, so bad he’s itching. He wants him hard and desperate. He wants him gentle and pliant. He wants all of it but he’s too scared to do anything about it.

It’s Sehyoon the one who leans down closer than necessary this time. His hand flies to Byeongkwan’s nape to keep him in place, and there’s nothing else Byeongkwan wants more than to close his eyes and dive in. But anxiety and panic hit his chest like a sharp, cold spear. Fans’ screams are deafening in his ears, and he can feel a million pairs of eyes focused on him with such force they make him duck his head embarrassed.

He laughs as he pulls away, awkward and uncomfortable and regretful, with his cheeks in flames and his heart thrumming in his throat. Sehyoon is laughing too, out loud, with his eyes wrinkled and his cheeks full. And Byeongkwan should feel relieved that Sehyoon is laughing, that he doesn’t feel rejected or hurt. But what if he is laughing because it doesn’t really mean that much to him. What if it’s all a game, just part of the show, part of the song. What if, what if, what if.

For once, it isn’t about burning. It can’t be about burning when fear creeps up his neck, freezing and threatening.

5 + 2

That same day, Byeongkwan feels like a fool when he gets back to the dorms.

It’s four in the morning, his whole body feels sore and rusty after three hours of intense dancing, he feels spent and worn out, with his knees and ankles cracking as he walks down the hall, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his backpack. His hair is still damp after the shower he took before coming back home, the coldness of it slips down his entire frame, it makes goosebumps raise all over his neck and forearms.

He throws his backpack to the floor carelessly as he makes his way to his room, jumping over discarded clothes and shoes, his mind focused only on getting into bed to warm himself up and rest his aching feet.

But he never makes it to bed, though. The muffled voices coming from the living room make him stop when he’s walking by. The TV is on, the room is washed over by its sickly blue light, and Sehyoon is lying on the couch. He’s sprawled all over it, one of is arms over his own chest and the other hanging off the side, his hoodie is lifted up over his stomach, his mouth half open. His face looks peaceful even if the skin under his eyes is tight and grey.

Byeongkwan taps one of his naked feet lightly, then shakes it until Sehyoon opens one of his eyes and stares at him slightly confused. He huffs as a small smile stretches over his pale, chapped lips, he scratches his belly and pulls his sweater down as he mumbles “finally” quietly under his breath. His eyes fall close again, but his smile stays there.

“You waiting for me?” Byeongkwan asks as he takes his jacket off. He nudges at Sehyoon’s legs with his thigh, curls his hand around one of his ankles and squeezes until Sehyoon lets out a little giggle and squirms away, making room for Byeongkwan to sit down.

Sehyoon is nodding with his eyes still closed. He stretches his arms over his head, grunts a little as the tension leaves his body. His hoodie lifts up again and Byeongkwan’s eyes fall to his tummy, his gaze travels over the skin there, soft and warm and so inviting, he wants to reach out and touch, he wants to caress him all over.

“You took so long,” Sehyoon mumbles after a while, and when Byeongkwan looks up at him he’s looking right back between his eyelashes, eyes tired and half closed. “I was worried.”

Byeongkwan feels so incredibly foolish. He thinks back at the hours he spent in the practice room today, the way he took himself to the limit over and over again to stop himself from thinking about Sehyoon. The wasted hours he spent doubting him, trying to run away from him while all Sehyoon was doing, (keeps doing, has always been doing) is waiting, waiting, waiting for him. Byeongkwan is always running late, he arrives at the worst times, worn out and out of breath. And still, Sehyoon always wants him.

He’s all fuzzy inside now, lukewarm and mushy, his cheeks lit up like candles. There’s no ashes, it’s not about boiling, nothing is burning up inside or out. The world feels gentle, round edges and soft corners, even if he can feel his heart beating behind his eyes, pumping in his wrists.

Oh, Byeongkwan is so exhausted, he lets himself fall onto Sehyoon easily now. He curls his body around him, makes himself small to fit between Sehyoon and the back of the couch, loops his leg between Sehyoon’s, places his hand in the golden skin of his tummy and his lips on the pale skin of his mouth, and kisses him as gently as he can.

There’s this tiny sound escaping Sehyoon’s throat and, at first, Byeongkwan thinks he might have surprised him, for once. But it’s just a content giggle, he’s smiling against Byeongkwan’s lips, tender and welcoming, as if he’s been ready for this moment for years.

Byeongkwan is not ready for this, not at all. There’s this anxious knot in the pit of his stomach threatening to choke him down. Sehyoon has filled up every empty corner in his body, and he’s so afraid he’s gonna end up void if Sehyoon decides he doesn’t want this, in the end.

He doesn’t want this to end, he wants to slide his hand up Sehyoon’s chest, thread his fingers into his hair, pull his head back and bite down his neck. But Sehyoon pulls back before Byeongkwan can do any of these things, and it’s dizzying and terrifying, the way his body goes cold and tense all over.

But Sehyoon is still smiling against his lips, pink and sweet like honey. He sneaks his arm around Byeongkwan’s back, pulls him towards him until he has him trapped against his chest, where Byeongkwan can hide under his chin and listen carefully to his steady heart.

Sehyoon mumbles “sleepy,” and kisses Byeongkwan’s forehead before he closes his eyes and goes still. His arms circle around Byeongkwan’s body delicately but firmly, it’s like a question and an answer at the same time: Byeongkwan is allowed to choose, to leave if he wants, but Sehyoon wants him there, tucked in the crook of his neck, tangled between his legs, pliant under his thumbs.

Byeongkwan isn’t going anywhere.

  
  


(He doesn’t have to wait too long to surprise Sehyoon. It happens the following morning, when he wakes up to Sehyoon’s eyes focused on his face, all puffy and sweet, so incredibly soft, the words just slip out of Byeongkwan’s lips before he realizes, and his brain is still to sleepy too catch them.

He whispers “love you,” pressed against the hot skin of Sehyoon’s neck, where he can feel his heart picking up its pace under his mouth. Sehyoon squeals, his skin gets all flushed, red from the tip of his nose down to his chest. He covers his face with his hands and refuses to look at Byeongkwan until he has kissed every single one of his fingers.)

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it till the end just know that im really thankful. i struggled a lot with this fic and im not really happy with how it turned out, i've been dealing with writer's block Again so i'd appreciate it if you could leave a comment and tell me what u think about it! anyways thank you so much for reading <3


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